Is that true? Then the fools who paid 10-fold more got what they deserved unless they thought the intrinsic value of his art is worth it.

Regarding your earlier response, for which I thank you, I was already aware of the marketplace economics. It seems to me that hand-thrown or hand-built pottery done by a artist and master craftsman is such an organic expression of beauty, artistry, craftsmanship, and is so representative of the elements - in short - such a powerfully metaphorical art form that reflects all the elements of life on this earth, that it's intrinsic value ought, but is not, be reflected in it's resale value. Not talking appreciation in dollar value. Talking about the perception of intrinsic value. When I see and evaluate a hand-thrown vase, cassarole, sculpture or bowl, I see the elegance of form, function, and creativity in the piece. Pottery is such an organic expression of creation and creativity.

I am stricken by a revelation. A flash of insight. There are only two (possibly three) posters to this thread. The primary poster has Dissociative Identity Disorder, (formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder.) The individual has two ego-states that are aware of and not entirely separate from one another that function relatively well in the real world - SRS and MMario. Amos, Little Hawk and Rapaire are each entirely dissociated aspects of that person, aware of one another but in complete denial that they are actually the same person. It becomes even more complex when one realizes that the likes of Chongo and Shane are fragments of the personality state that goes by the name Little Hawk. The aspect of this poster who goes by the name Rapaire also has numerous fragmented ego states, many of them quite transient. The ego state who goes by the name Amos is fairly stable and consistent, though often quite hostile or derrogatory toward certain of the other personalities. Occasionally other personality fragments briefly appear, including, but not limited to, Virginia Tam and Rustic Rebel. At this point in my revelations, I am uncertain if BWL is yet another dissociated part of the poster, or the older cousin of the poster.

I, of course, as a highly skilled and intuitive psychotherapist who first discovered what is really going on here, am the other confirmed poster. As skilled as I am, it has taken awhile for all to be revealed, else I never would have posted to begin with. Let me say I am absolutely NOT functioning as the treating provider to thefragmented soul responsible for the vast majority of this thread.

Besides, there is much to be learned as a participant-observer. Please continue. I'm watching.

I know a potter who decided to increase the value of his work by "leaking" that he had full-blown AIDS and wouldn't be around much longer. He increased his prices ten-fold and was actually able to get that much. I don't know whether it was people anticipating that his pots would increase in value after his death, people feeling sorry for him, or a bit of both, but shortly after his last pot was sold his AIDS miraculously went into remission and he moved to New York City.

To answer Janie's question about the variance in price between better quality mass-produced ceramics and artist-made pottery, it's all a matter of name recognition, not quality. There are very few potters (or artists of any type, for that matter) whose work is going to appreciate in value with age because nobody recognizes the artist's name. But there are a few well-known commercial ceramics makers (Fiesta Ware, for instance) that consistently appreciate in value to collectors. It has nothing to do with quality or artistry, just collectability, and collectability is a function of the marketplace, not of aesthetics.

The truth is that, for most artists, the price we get from whoever buys a piece from us is the most that piece is ever going to be worth unless we greatly increase our name recognition by becoming mass murderers or running Ponzi schemes.

US Airways violated Federal migratory bird regulations by hunting geese with an A320 Airbus jetliner, claim anonymous government sources. The pilot of flight 1549, Air Force veteran and avid hunter Chesley B. Sullenberger, tried combining both of his interests by bagging a brace of geese over the wetlands near New York 's LaGuardia airport after takeoff, on his way to Charlotte , North Carolina .

The imported European $77 million A320 airliner is not certified for either waterfowl or upland bird hunting, so it was not surprising that the aircraft malfunctioned. When he realized that both New York and New Jersey State Game and Fish enforcement officers would soon be approaching, Captain Sullenberger unsuccessfully attempted to hide the plane in the Hudson River. The crew and 150 passengers were chilled and shaken but unhurt. Most were simply grateful to avoid spending the weekend in Charlotte .

National Transportation Safety Board inspectors rushed to the scene, and reportedly found no Duck Stamps on the downed aircraft's fuselage. Captain Sullenberger has not been charged but is being held incommunicado at an undisclosed location. PETA is urging the government to prosecute the pilot for double honkercide and poaching, and the animal rights group is expected to file a civil suit on behalf of the flock.

The two victims were undocumented aliens, according to sources close to the investigation, Canada geese who had over-stayed their visas. Their goose gang scandalized their quiet Queens community by squatting in local cemeteries and golf courses, parking on the grass, cooking strange-smelling food and throwing wild parties late into the night. Neighbors say police dogs were called out on several occasions. Such incidents have triggered a wave of anti-Canada goose sentiment, but at this time revenge or hate crime motives are not suspected in the US Airways bird bashings.

Forensic examination of the avian corpses continues, and technicians are analyzing the two cadavers under heat with chestnuts, prunes, and Armagnac. NTSB inspectors have contributed a supply of testing fluid, a 2005 Zind-Humbrecht Riesling from Alsace. We will update this story as entrees details become available.

Hey, MOM, bet you're proud of me. I just went through all those boxes of pottery and crystal that I shoved into the back closet when I moved. Set a few pieces out to finally begin personalizing this joint, then consolidated the rest to into 12 boxes - down from 27. Left enough room in that closet for me to shove more boxes in it that had been lining the walls in the spare room:*)

Question for our resident potter - why is it rarely possible to get a good price for beautiful pottery when the original purchaser runs out of room and has to dispose of some of it?

I've collected pottery for years and have kept track of the provenance of nearly all of it. I don't understand why a mass produced Roseville vase should be worth something while a beautiful piece of functional are created by an individual potter is not on the resale market. There is no point in me keeping what I don't have room to display or use, but I'll be damned if I am going to sell a $120 vase made by Joe Lung for $15 at a yard sale. (Or made by BWL for that matter - but I don't think our paths ever crossed so I don't know your work.)

I think I realize what is going on with our librarian friend. He reads too much. All those tales from up and down the both real and imagined timelines of spacetime have got all his past lives stirred up and he is constantly being battered with pictures from ancient traumas which he has confused with the recent past (or the near future) So he gets his lifetimes all mixed up and as a result is prone to making contextually weird statements.

You're right about that! I remember once when my brother had managed to get one down and had the critter in a headlock when out of nowhere it slammed him with its tail. Knocked my brother for a loop, it did, but he managed to keep the headlock on the beastie. Being a good brother I waded in and bashed him in the head with my club. Probably would have been better if my aim was better and even today my brother (who was nicknamed after a local dance craze he was pretty good at) is known locally as "Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump." Anyway, we did manage to have the apatty for breakfast but my brother was never the same afterward. Personally I couldn't tell any difference.

Well, yes, I suppose I did. Dad used to make me work on building the house and Mom, well, let's just say she ran the House. Every day, after killing, cleaning, and cooking our breakfast (what, by the way, are "Wheaties"?) I would have to go out and make nails in my Little Handy Andy Blacksmith's Shop. For hours I would turn out steel nails: 4 penny, roofing, 6 penny, scaffolding, finishing, 10 penny -- whatever was required. Sometime in the late afternoon I'd get to make stuff for the neighbors: spearheads, swords, shackles, arrowheads, and the other things that were needed for whatever neighborhood events were coming up.

Ah, those were the days! There's nothing like tempering a good sword in the guts of a prisoner or knowing that your work contributed to the destruction of a distant monastery to assure your self-esteem in the years ahead.

I like the signs that say "Watch Children". You can run over them, back over them, and do all sorts of things as long as you watch them.

The sign "Children At Play" -- I wonder about the children who are working, like cutting the grass or something. Do they feel left out? I really don't know because as a child I never got to play, but had to work all the time to help put food on the table. Even now my brothers and I will reminisce about the days when we had to go out before dawn and kill an apatosaurus or an archeapteryx so that we could have breakfast.

Slow children playing are just more vulnerable to interruption, as they build their worlds with scrupulous attention to every detail; the blast of a brazen, worldly car-horn could shatter their whole cognitive world into smithereens. Fast children don't mind as they just zip things together every which way, for the sake of the play, and if a car comes by they just feature it right in without a hiccup.

Lhude, sirrah, not "lewdly". Besides, it is going out. Here in San Diego the first flavors of spring have begun, with the cold rains a faint memory and the warming promise of toasty beaches and gentle surf ahead.

NO! It's not. It's not even a palindrome. It's an ugly number you stole while I was helping Piers (upstairs) with playing the trumpet (a/k/a God's Own Musical Instrument). But that's okay because I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have been helping someone further their musical ability while you have to live with the guilt.

To night we prepared a nice dnnner for two old friends we haven't seen in years, and they told us a true story about a woman who carefully wove her way around the barriers at the entrance to a freeway ramp that was closed for repair, and drove straight into a huge patch of fresh poured quick-drying concrete, much to the amazement and annoyance of the men who were working there,

She finally got out with their help, and they hosed the car off and warned her to get it put up on a hoist and cleaned but she was so put out by the incident that she drove home and pouted instead.

Her husband came home and seeing she was in a bad mood tried to cheer her up by telling her the"... funny story he had heard to day about some dingy broad who drove past a barricade at a freeway ramp in a yellow....a yellow....oh, no....tell me that wasn't you....".

No, this really IS a true a story!!! Poor guy ended up with a hammer and a brick-set under the car on a crawler chipping off the remainders of concrete from the transmission case.